


Voyages of the Sandwitch

by ImperfectSilence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Boy-Who-Lived Neville Longbottom, Channel my inner Bob Ross, Crossover, Fem!Harry, Gen, Girl-who-Conquered, Most of this was an accident, No clue where this is going, No mistakes just happy accidents, accidental vanquishing, buckle your seatbelts it's not even ch 2 and someone is dead, i guess arson and theft?, i'm having so much fun, other than an adventure, rating and category may change, they deserved it tho, this gon be a TRIP, this is hilarious, trust me - Freeform, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:04:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperfectSilence/pseuds/ImperfectSilence
Summary: Sirius Black knew he was not a great godfather. Or at least, he hadn't been. So, he plans to do his duties, and smuggle his goddaughter out of Britain as fast as he can. But, then he get's a call from Snape, saying that she's at the ministry looking for him. So he quickly finishes his note to her and leaves it with his coconspirator, Dobby, before leaving. His plan: sailing apprenticeship in the Caribbean. Sun, sand, and demigods. No way for this to go wrong.





	1. Tying Up Loose Ends

If there was a single word that could express the feeling she was under, the only one that came to mind was exhausted. Bone deep, soul aching, all encompassing tiredness. Henrietta ‘Henri’ Potter had every reason to feel chewed up and used by the world, having barely completed yet another long and arduous, not to mention deadly, year. In the face of the Ministry’s incompetence and outright sabotage, she had sparked an illicit revolution masquerading as a study group. Barely keeping herself ahead of the mass of students she was teaching, propelled on natural ability and manic studying, Henri did her best to keep ahead of the authoritarian regime the Ministry enacted. The same Ministry who smeared her name seemingly daily, and whose agents actively attacked her. Advised to keep her head down, but knowing that the moment she did her neck would be on the chopping block, Henri braved the packs of self-righteous purebloods who bayed for her blood and her house. Dodging the crowds, as they invited her to be cursed in the back, she stuck to the hidden passages. As mealtimes grew to be more and more hostile and dangerous, she started skipping those as well as classes she deemed to risky. Astronomy, Potions, Defense, Herbology-there was too much that could go wrong. If she stayed, an ‘accident’ was sure to occur. She couldn’t sleep, tortured by her dreams and Cedric’s piercing stare.

When Hedwig was attacked, Henri made the savage, wrenching choice to send her away to safety. Fleur happily took her in, saddened, but understanding. But, from then on, her allies dwindled. Hermione was pulled aside by Umbridge, and though Henri knew not what they said, the result was plain to see. The bookworm drew back, sunk deeper into her OWL studying and started ignoring Henri’s silent cries for help. Then, Ron discovered that Hermione was indeed a girl. He too faded away as their relationship blossomed. Xeno disappeared on an expedition, and Luna had to make a choice: fall in line, and have the ministry negotiate to find him, or continue to support Henri.

She didn’t know what choice the blonde would have made, since Henri decided for her. She staged a public fight and break in their friendship, cementing the girls’ ‘loyalty’ to the Ministry. Neville, her last ally in the midst of the assault on every level, stood fast with her. He was the bulwark upon which she could duck and breathe. A rock of support set upon by the seas of wickedness. But, no foundation is perfect. Unable to cow him within Hogwarts walls, they went for his parents. Frank and Alice were found wandering Hogsmeade one weekend. If that warning wasn’t enough, a week later they were found again- in Essex. Muggle Essex. Neville had no choice but to draw back.

And so finally, She stood alone. The days of lounging in the Beauxbatons carriage with Fleur were long gone. Now, it was just her and the hostility at every turn. Her dorm became unsafe, mysterious hexes flying, clothes disappearing, and things appearing in her bed. If she ventured into the great hall, conversation halted, and dark mutters started. The professors’ hands were tied, with no way to help. She became a ghost, pale and thin. When she was seen, dark circles burned under her eyes. Manic, wild eyes and constant shivering. Madames Pince and Pomphrey were the only witness to her reading habits, abusing the cloak to sneak into the restricted section and pilfer the tomes within, and pepper-up vanishing from her shelves along with bruise salve and other remedies.

It was at the culmination of this that the vision came, that she saw Sirius on the floor of the ministry. With no one around her to help, Henri set out alone to rescue her godfather. She barely survived the dark lords trap, barely escaped with her life from the dozen death eaters, before facing HE-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. If not for the intervention of the Order and the return of Dumbledore, Henri would not have survived the night.

Stumbling onto the train, all she could manage to do was knock back the six vials of potion she had to take for the curses and lock the door before curling up to sleep or to die, she was fine with either. Sirius was dead. She got him killed.

She managed to claw back to wakefulness enough to stumble off the train and into Vernon’s car, immediately falling back into Morpheus’ welcoming arms the moment her seatbelt clicked. When they arrived back at 4 Privet Drive, Vernon grudgingly shaking her awake, she had no protests to whatever her relatives were saying, barely able to keep her eyes open. They locked her school things away, inwardly shocked at the lack of fight, but certainly not willing to stop because of it.

The next week passed in a blur, and Henri assumed she was sick. It was the best explanation for the tiredness and nausea, as well as the fever and the chills. The itching of her magic, crawling along her limbs. She’d fall asleep shaking and shivering, coughing and aching, only to wake up in another room. Thin bands of light pink burned flesh wrapped around her arms, dried blood crusting her slip lips, a stabbing pain in her side. Petunia would turn to grab something and turn back to see her niece, hair sticking straight up sitting in a chair, limbs shaking and eyes unfocused. Henri’s tendency to ghost around that she built up at Hogwarts continued until something broke the trance. Or rather, someone.

With a muted crack, the door to her closet pushes open, wide eyes peering out from behind the door, half fearful and half worshipful.

“Mistress Henri? Miss?” Dobby asks quietly, only for the lump on the bed to whimper and turn. Tiptoeing closer, Dobby summits the nightstand and peers over at the witch tossing and shivering below. “Dobby be seeing this before. Dobby knows what to do.” He says with finality, snapping and popping away. For the next two days, Dobby pops back and forth, feeding Henri broth and tending to her, forcing potions into her and helping her around. Slowly, Henri improves. The wild magics running through her settle down, coaxed back to their proper channels.

Finally, in the early hours of the fourth day, Henri woke and it didn’t hurt. Her head was clear, not cold or hot or hurting. She was hale once more.

“Missy Herni! Dobby is so glad to see yous well again!” he cries, leaping at her. Herni carefully catches the elf in a hug and looks around the room from her bed.

“I’m glad to see you too Dobby.” She says warmly.

“Dobby feels so terrible about Henri’s Dogfather. But Paddyfoot made Dobby promise to help Henri, even if it meant he could not help Paddyfoot.” He wails.

“Dobby, it’s-“ she starts to say before being interrupted.

“Missy Potter, don’t you dares say it be alright! Paddyfoot is dead and yous should be grieving. I can feel it, yous is not alright!” He says with much fire.

“You are right, Dobby. I miss him, and I barely knew him. I got him killed, he- he probably resented me in the end.” She sniffles.

“Missy Potter you take that back! Master Paddyfoot loved you up to the very end. You’s be too alike!”

“What do you mean Dobby?”

“Master Paddyfoot be breaking down much like you, about not being good enough for you. For not helping you when he could.” The house elf confesses.

“That- that’s absurd! He was the best godfather a girl could ask for! He, he sent me the firebolt and told me stories of my father and,and-“

“Now you be seeing, just as he did. But he was doing something to make it up to you, even if I be telling him there be nothing to make up. He be sighing you up for a sailing trip. A long one.”

“Dobby, I can’t go. I don’t know how to sail, and there’s Voldemort and my friends. I can’t just leave them behind.”

“They having left yous behind already.” Dobby mutters darkly. Loveygood be planning to escape the country. Madame Gusty be planning to kidnap her family and run too.” Dobby adds.

“How do you know these things?” Henri asks.

Dobby’s ears turn red and he looks away, “Dobby be listening in on other elves when they be visiting at Hoggywarts.”

“You’ve been spying on them?” She asks.

“Dobby only be doing what be best for Missy Henri.” He says adamantly.

“Okay, so some of my friends are running away. But I can’t just leave the oth-“ she thinks back, remembering with a flash her pleading, begging for Ron and Hermione to help her rescue Sirius, and them nearly running from the common room, Hermione firmly not looking at her.

“You may have a point.” She says, chewing on her bottom lip. “So, what do I need to do?”

The next morning, after three days of not seeing or hearing her niece, Petunia would find the room empty and the window open. The next day they would call the police. The police would come, search the house and the surrounding area, before giving up after a few weeks and reporting her as having run away. The case file would sit empty, gathering dust, until it was finally trashed, many decades later, unsolved.

* * *

In Gringotts, at the corner designated for apparition and house elf teleportation, as the two are very different magics, a bizarrely dressed house elf and a young witch appear. The goblin on duty eyes them over, noting down the orange hat and the lurid purple tie, with the blue and pink socks on the house elf’s ears. The witch is dressed in muggle attire, dark bags under her eyes. He doesn’t put together the hair and the scar and the glasses, that would only come months later in review from the ministry. They pass through the doorway and he notes that they did so without incident before returning to his little game. At the main desk, the pair approach.

“Mr. Teller, Sir, Dobby is here to access Vault 076 as allowed by his terms of employment.” He says, walking to the empty desk.

“Your terms do not allow guests, Mr. Dobby.” The teller says, looking over his book.

“Dobby be bringing along Missy Potter, the vault owner’s goddaughter!”

“Still is not allowed. I’m afraid-“ The goblin pauses and looks over the counter at the duo. The girl is wrapped in a cloak, night clothes visible underneath. He notes the scar and flips through his book.

“Wait here while we check on a few things.” The goblin flips through the tome in front of him, marking things down and checking through pages. “Were you male, this would be a simple inheritance claiming and you’d be fine, as your godfather made you his heir before his death. However, House Black is patriarchal, and thus you cannot inherit. Are you aware of the betrothal contract between houses Longbottom and Lestrange?”

“Me?” Henri asks as the silence builds. “No. What does that have to do with-“

The goblin gives her a stern look and clears his throat. “In 1896 Lord Lestrange betrothed an as of yet unborn daughter of his house to the heir of house Longbottom. One of the stipulations on the contract was that they would be able to view the other’s vaults here in Gringotts. The contract has lain unfulfilled, as House Lestrange has not produced any daughters. By way of your grandfather Fleamont’s blood, you have access to vault 077, the Longbottom trust. I’ll summon a cart goblin to take you to vault 077 so long as you promise us one thing, Miss Potter.”

Henri takes a moment to break down what she was just told. “What would that be?”

“Promise us you will not withdraw more than half of your wealth stored in these halls until after the current dark lord is dead.”

“By current dark lord you mean?” She asks, her paranoia pushing past her sleepiness.

“Tom Riddle.” The teller says, giving her an approving look.

“I agree.” She says.

“Sign here.” She reads the brief contract, holding it up to look for hidden words or tricky fonts. While the goblin could be offended, he is not. Trickery such as the one she is searching for is not uncombed when dealing with customers they are not fond of. She has nothing to worry about, not that she knows this. The Potters have never given them much trouble, and the Blacks have taken their lumps with honor. They have been caught in a twisted contract a few times, but never retaliated more than expected. It was common to have them refuse to turn over a few artifacts or deposit and withdraw large sums back to back day after day. It was the reason that despite the Potters having had accounts for twice as long, their registers were the same depth. Henri finishes examining the document and signs, face twitching as the blood quill scratches over a half-healed and familiar wound.

The cart goblin leads them down and stops between the two vaults. He walks and opens vault 076, and Dobby nearly bursts into tears. Henri gets a good look at how rich the Lestranges are, spots an interesting cup and frowns. She asks the goblin to open the other vault, number 077. Vault 077 is far more sparse than the Lestrange one, with a neatly stacked, but dwindling pile of silver and gold coins.

“Goblin, am I allowed to retrieve anything?”

“I do not know miss. They didn’t tell me anything. Try and pick something up but be careful. If the security charms reject you, it’ll hurt.” He says, standing to the side.

Henri steps in and looks for the least painful thing to grab. The best she sees is a hairpin. It’s bronze, about three inches long, and slim as can be. With great trepidation, Henri closes her hand around it and braces for pain. Nothing happens, and she lets out a sigh of relief. Then, she grows devious.

“Dobby? Ready to do some heavy lifting? We have some gold to move.”

Henri sticks the hairpin in her hair and watches as Dobby floats the gold around the wall between the two vaults, out of one door and into the other. The cart goblin pointedly looks the other direction.

* * *

Up in the lobby, the teller watches the self-updating leger of accounts and can’t help but smile. The number on one page dwindles and shrinks, while the one on the other grows. After a minute or two, he slashes with his quill and red ink appears.

**Vault Closed**

* * *

Dobby, being clever, moves the keyring he was after to the Longbottom vault and has Henri pick it up, as he cannot touch it himself. Before they leave, he has her look over the Black vault across the tracks and pick out anything she wants. She asks him to grab a few of the knives and a trunk she thinks is like Moody’s, a few pieces of jewelry, and one bottle of prized scotch sitting on a table. Dobby obediently floats them into the Longbottom vault and Henri takes them out.

The pair leave the bank in high spirits, Henri clutching the bottle of amber liquid to her chest like a lifeline. She’d never tried scotch before, and everyone she tried to have it with told her absolutely not. This was her chance! She was disappointed she dropped the chalice, she wanted to donate it to Hogwarts because it had Hufflepuff’s crest on it! But on their way out a dragon had roared, and she jumped, and the chalice fell, and the dragon roasted it. In all of Henri’s screaming, no one heard the shade of Tom Riddle shrieking. As the pair walk back into the apparition room, Dobby stops her, the trunk floating behind them.

“Dobby be taking you to dark place. Keyring should allow you in. Stay behind Dobby, nasty Kreacher living there.”

Dobby pops them away, and they reappear at a familiar park.

“Dobby, this is near- near-“ Henri knows where they are, but she can’t remember the name or exactly where they are, only that she recognizes it.

“Yes, Missy Potter. Here, you be holding those keys and we see if house be welcoming you or not.” Henri digs the ring of keys out of her pocket and looks them over. They’re large and made of various metals, some giving her weird feelings. She flips through, looking for one that feels familiar, and passes over a wooden one.

_What fool has a wooden lock on their house!?” _She thinks. Miles away, asleep in his bed, Cornelius Fudge rolls over, unsure, but feeling like someone just insulted him. The next three keys feel warm, but it isn’t until the fifth one that something happens. With a groan, the street expands and the houses on either side of the witch shuffle aside for a new one growing out of the ground. There’s a violent tearing sound, and the house suddenly shoots to full size, the front door popping open.

Henri follows the fearless Dobby into the house, wishing she had her wand. With a muted pop, one of the knives from the vault appears in her hand and she thanks insane magical enchanters for the first time in her life. Nothing moves or seems alive as they creep through the house. Dobby leaves her in the kitchen to gather some things from upstairs, and Henri figures now is a good time to try that scotch.

No matter what the book said, scotch is disgusting, she decides, having taken one bracing swig. It burns and tastes foul, worse than most potions she’s tried. And she’s tried more than just a few, with all of her adventures. Henri sets the bottle on the counter and tries to wash out her mouth from the sink, but there’s no water from the tap. She starts looking around the cabinets, remembering that Sirius hid some butterbeer in them when she was here last. She doesn’t find anything in the upper cabinets besides some dusty plates. The first set of lower cabinets have some mice skeletons, but little more. It isn’t until she opens the cabinet under the kitchens sink that she finds anything of value. The item in question is a locket, which is around the neck of a house elf. A house elf that did not like her the last time she was here, and who Sirius kicked down the stairs for trying to bite her.

Kreacher charges out of the cupboard like a possessed monkey, full of screeching and clawing and biting. Henri does her best to contain the demented house elf, but there’s little one can do when something the size of a rabid toddler springs at you unexpectedly. She does manage to keep his hands off her throat and hold his head away from her as they roll on the slate floor. Kreacher is a wild beast, thrashing and clawing and gnashing his teeth at her. It’s all Henri can do to keep him at bay.

She finally manages to throw him off and scrambles away, picking up a broom from where it leaned on the wall. The house elf recovers quickly, gathering its wits and launching itself back at her. Henri rebuffs it with the broom, sweeping it to the side and whapping it thoroughly. The house elf springs on the table with a look of manic glee. Kreacher snaps his fingers and the broom vanishes from her hands.

“Oh, that’s not fair you little-“ the fight is back on. Kreacher must have wither been hampered by his employment, or perhaps just wanted the pleasure of throttling Henri physically himself, as he refrained from using his magic beyond vanishing her weapons. In addition to the broom, he also confiscates a frying pan, a pair of tongs, and the troll leg umbrella stand by the front door. The battle is fierce, as Henri finally finds something he can’t take away: the knife from the Black vault. Every time he snaps it away, it pops back into her hand. So, the brawl descends into an elaborate chase, between Henri swiping at Kreacher, who’s screeching and dodging, all with a knife flickering in and out of existence. It is into this chaos that Dobby pops.

“Missy Henri, I have- Kreacher!” he shouts. This distraction is the downfall for the aging elf, as he looks over at Dobby and doesn’t dodge in time. Henri’s knife sinks into his side and he flies back from the force, knocking the bottle of scotch into the hearth. Kreacher, soaked in expensive whiskey, stands back up and pulls out the knife. With murder in his eyes, Dobby has only one choice. Dobby snaps his fingers, poking the ashwinder asleep under the hearth. It startles awake after so many years and shakes the soot off before doing what comes natural to it and self-immolating. The booze soaked Kreacher catches on fire almost as fast as the logs in the hearth, and he starts screaming, not in rage or anger, but in pain. He pops towards them, but Dobby redirects him into the wall. The tapestry hanging on the wall ignites. Kreacher tries to pop again, but the stronger and younger Dobby rebuffs him, sending him flying back into the potion’s cabinet. The potions cabinet, made of aged oak, has not been dusted in nearly twenty years, and the potions within went bad half as long ago. Kreacher, crashing into the cabinet, breaks the doors and sets the furniture alight. In a whirl of movement, Dobby grabs the last few things he wanted to snag and teleports Henri, the trunk, and himself out of the now burning building.

Henri watches with amazement at how fast 12 Grimmauld place goes up in smoke. Kreacher, under orders not to leave the home, pops from room to room trying to escape the blaze. Unfortunately, he is on fire himself, and only spreads the fire faster. With no water in the pipes, and not having been cleaned in nearly twenty years, it takes less than 10 minutes for the building to be consumed by the fires. Dobby concentrates and layers a ward over the building, keeping the fires restrained to just it.

“Missy Potter, Dobby be thinking it dangerous to leave you alone unsupervised.”

“You know, after today, I might just agree.” Henri says in amazement as the roof caves in, sending up a pillar of fire.

Dobby snaps his fingers and hands her a cold butterbeer. “Paddyfoot always said he hated that house.”

Henri looks down and see’s she’s holding a glass she must have picked up to beam at Kreacher. She uses the hem of her robe to wipe it clean and pours some of the butterbeer in it before handing it to Dobby. They sit on the trunk and drink, watching the Black’s fortress home come crashing down. In the roar of the flames, no one hears the shrieking of Tom Riddle, as the only one who could would be Kreacher, who passed out from smoke inhalation. As the sun breaks over the dawn, they finish the butterbeer, the ashes of the once great house of Black hissing and settling.


	2. Chapter 2

As the flames die down and the dawn starts to creep out of hiding, Henri finishes her glass and turns to the house elf.

“So, Dobby, what did we come here to find?”

“Missy Potter, we’s need to find a place for you tonight. I’s be ashamed to admit that what I be looking for wasn’t here.” Dobby says, tugging on his ears.

“Okay, well, there’s the leaky.” She offers, but Dobby shakes his head.

“You’s not safe in Diagon. Not safe with wizards.”

“Um..” she says, running a hand though her hair. “I’ve got nothing Dobby.”

“Dobby be so stupid sometimes!” the house elf says, smacking his forehead. “You’s took a trunk from vault. We’s be staying in there tonight.”

“Sure.” Henri says shrugging. Dobby grabs her hand again and they pop away once again.

This time, they appear on the wharfs, materializing under the docks well above the high tide line, but out of view.

“You’s be opening the trunk now.” Dobby instructs, turning to face the water. “I be setting up protections.”

Henri settles the trunk in the sand and pops the lid. She descends the trunk slowly, being cautious of anything down in there. The trunk is musty, smelling like no one’s cleaned it in a very long time. Turning around, the first thing Henri notices is that there’s no lights. It’s dim and dark inside the trunk, and she struggles for a moment, wishing there was light. Something in her shivers, shaking like it wants to break free and she burps unladylike. Hand flying to her mouth, like petunia taught her, Henri is shocked to find something slowing from between her fingers. She lets her hand fall and marvels at the ball of light the floats up- the one she belched up. The floor a step away is broken and the darkness descends from there- she’s not sure if it’s just shadow or if the enchantments on the trunk are breaking down. Scattered all around the kitchenette is broken furniture- chairs and a table shattered and pulped. Dust coats everything and, running her finger along the leg of one of the broken chairs, Henri collects a sizable caterpillar before blowing it away.

She picks carefully through the wreckage and the holes in the floor to one of the two doors on the far wall. Choosing the door on the left, Henri pokes her head in and takes stock. The room is tiny, just a bed and a bookcase, or what’s left of them. The bed is mildewed and broken, but even if it wasn’t the bookcase fell on the bed and shattered. Wood splinters covered the comforter tucked in over the frame.

Henri pulls back and tries the other door, but it refuses to open. She’s guessing this is the bathroom of the small trunk. Looking around, she realizes that there’s nothing to be done but start working to fix the place up a little bit, make it even partially livable. So, no stranger to hard work, she rolls up her sleeves.

First order of business is moving the broken furniture aside. She starts with the larger chunks, the two halves of the table, which she drags over the larger holes in the floor. Next, she starts feeding the sharper edges and pieces into the void under her feet. (She figures out that the holes in the floor are not just shadow, but actually destabilized space. Or something like that, so she redoubles her plan to not fall in them.) The last thing she does is start to wipe down the surfaces. Using one of her socks as a rag, Henri wets it from a thankfully working faucet and gets to work. The sock runs black as she slowly progresses and gets rid of the dust and debris.

Dobby pops down just as she’s finishing the kitchenette, and he is taken aback.

“Nasty trunk is not fit for Missy Potter.” he declares solemnly. “we’s best be finding another place.”

“No, Dobby, I just got done with this.” Henri groans.

“But it is not safe here.” He protests.

“Dobby nowhere is safe for me. Here no one knows where we are.” She pleads.

“Fine. Missy Potter be right. Anonononymitty being good.” He says.

“Anonymity?” Henri asks with a smile.

“Anemone.” Dobby agrees.

“Dobby, could you see about the bathroom? Its’ the door on the right. It wouldn’t open for me.” She asks, rinsing out her sock and tugging it back on her foot.

“Dobby can.” The house elf says, popping away. There’s loud banging from the bathroom, and Dobby reappears quickly. “It be worse than Dobby feared. It will be some time before Dobby will be done.”

“Okay.” Henri says, as he pops away. “Stay safe!” she calls out though the door. From inside the room, there’s a loud banging and a quiet gurgle.

Returning to the bedroom, Henri surveys the damage again. The real issue is the wood splinters. She can crawl around the bookcase, and the bed doesn’t look too badly off. But the shards of wood will dig into her the moment she lays on them. She starts picking them off the comforter but realizes quickly that it’s a futile effort. She’d be here all night doing that. If she can move the bookcase, she could pull the comforter off the bed and shake it out or simply forgo it.

Climbing along the wall and bending enough to brace her feet on the opposite wall, she digs her shoulder into the bookcase and struggles to push with her legs, to stand up at an angle and push the bookcase back upright or just off the bed. The bookcase is solid wood, dense and heavy. Henri, all 109 pounds soaking wet, can barely shove it an inch with all of her strength. But she refuses to give up, repositioning and trying again.

And again. And again. She loses track of how many positions she’s tried, ignoring the slivers of wood impaled in her leg from when she slipped and fell, or the ones in her hands as she caught herself. Her back is rubbed raw and screaming at her, shoulders shaking from trying to push so many times. Sweat pours down her face and drips from her chin as she struggles. It is into this scene that Dobby walks in.

“Missy Potter!” He shrieks. “What be you doing! Dobby be taking care of this!” he frantically tugs her to stop pushing on the bookcase and let it crash back into the wall. Pulling her off the bed and drawing all of the splinters out, he sends her to the bathroom to freshen up while he deals with this.

The bathroom is slightly restored, with the shower and tile behind the door marked off with large warning signs. The loo and the sink are functional, and Henri washes off her face, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. She gets a glimpse of the face staring back at her. Pale, with darks circles under her eyes. She looks like a reverse raccoon. Drawing back, she lifts her shirt and tries not to gasp. Ribs poke out, skin stretched taught over them. There are red and brown scabs, thick and cracking up and down her sides, created by flying debris or being thrown through things. Yellow and blue patches dot her arms and abs, polka dotting her legs from the impacts. Skin rubbed raw, Henri sets out a shuddering breath before leaning on the sink and feeling her eyes grow hot. Tears drop from her lashes onto the porcelain, splashing cold on her hands. She sniffles and cries, letting the pain and loss wash over her, letting everything she’s held in for so long be expressed. Sirius, the isolation, the hurt, the jeers, Umbridge, Ron and Hermione leaving her behind. She’s held it together for so long, been stretched so thin- she’s at her breaking point, she knows it.

Finally wiping her eyes dry as the tears abate, Henri gives herself a rueful smile and leaves the bathroom behind. In the bedroom, Dobby is atop the bookcase, jumping on it to force it through the patch of tile he ripped up.

“Stupid. Furniture. You. Follow. Dobby. Orders.” He says, punctuating each word with a jump, slowly, inch by inch forcing it through the hole. When there is only s foot or two to go, Henri can’t help it anymore and giggles. There’s something about him, dressed in a purple tie and orange hat, neon green and pink socks on her ears flopping as he pounds the offending furniture into a non-Euclidean transdimensional space. Something comical about it all, and she gives a watery smile as he pauses to look over.

“Dobby apologize for his commentary. He being a little frustrated with the bookcase. Not professional.” Maybe it’s the professionality comment, or maybe she’s just gone round the bend, but this is where Henri’s composure shatters. She’s laughing, in all out tears, rolling on the bed (which dobby hastily cleared of wood chips as she was falling), completely lost it full body shaking. Dobby, realizing this is good for her, helps her along by jumping a few more times on the bookcase. Slowly her giggled subside, and Henri finds herself shocked into yawning.

“You be’s tired now. Dobby be cleaning place while the great Henri Potter missy sleep.” He announces, giving the bookcase one last kick before walking out and closing the door to the room. Indeed, in the dark and quiet, Henri falls asleep quickly, despite the unfamiliar space and the horrifying smell.

The morning dawns with little proclamation. One moment she’s asleep, the next Henri is awake and scrambling out of her bed. The air smells little better, but other than that the place is the same. The bookcase still sticks up a foot and a half, mostly shoved into the dimensional absence in the floor. Henri walks out of the bedroom and turns to go into the bathroom.

“You’s be careful. Dobby trying but trunk be falling apart.” The house elf warns, and true to his word, the bathroom has more taped off, blocked away for her safety. Henri does what she can and returns to the main room. She’s not certain, but Henri thinks that much of the counterspace and floor has been taken over, been consumed and used up. Dobby is fighting a patch of wall, snapping and pointing at it, trying to wrangle the charm to stay intact.

“So, Dobby, what is all of this? What exactly did Siri plan for me?” she asks, sitting on the floor because there aren’t any chairs.

“Dobby, be telling yous in a-“ he grunts as the hole grows, “moment.” He finishes containing the hole to not grow anymore. “This place not be lasting another night.” he mutters, lopping down across from Henri.

“Siri.” She prompts.

“Master Sirius be planning on sending Missy Potter away, to escape from Greaty Britain. But he be worrying about yous being tracked. ‘Ship!’ cries he, as Dobby be replacing the bottle he be drinking with water. Master Sirius be finding you an apprenticeship about a vessel, set to leave shores this summer. Now tomorrow.”

“the ship?” she asks.

“Dobby not be knowing much, only that it be accepting Missy Potter and keeping her safe. She be welcome so long as she wishes to stay and can leave anytime they be in port.”

“What do I need to take with me?” Henri says, after digesting the information.

“Henri be needing everything but the ship. She be taking clothes and personal items. Said ‘reusability’ key.” Dobby answers.

“Dobby, I need to go shopping then. I have to pack.” Henri demands.

“Dobby be getting some of Missy Henri’s things. He rescued some from house Black and pulled some from Potter Vault.” The elf protests, levitating a trunk in front of Henri. She pops the lid and starts digging.

On top are some of her things: the photo album from Hagrid, her seeker goggles, her first snitch. A couple of her textbooks, her wand. Under that is her toothbrush and more toiletries. Under that is where it gets strange. She pulls out what she can only describe as a tunic, “Is this mine?”

“Is now. Was Siri’s brother Regulus once.” Dobby says proudly.

“It won’t even fit!” she protests.

“Henri will grow. He assures her, but she still sets it aside. A she continues pulling things out, she realizes that most of this came from the house of Black. Dresses that had to come from Sirius’ mom, other clothes from the collection. She tosses much of it aside, as it’s either horrifically out of date and cumbersome, or it won’t fit. No matter how much Dobby assured her, Henri knows that her bust will never rival Hermione’s, not even considering Susan Bones’. Walburga was well endowed, closer to Susan than Hermione anyway. It is only at the bottom of the trunk that she finds some things that will fit. A sweatshirt with the Disney logo on it, faded and worn, but still sturdy.

“Dobby is this?” she asks slowly.

“That be from the Potter vault, yes. It belonging to your mother.”

“Mom.” Henri says reverently, pressing her nose immediately into the collar. She can’t smell anything, not after all this time, but she’s not disappointed. It feels too good to finally have a piece of her mother with her. She has things of her dad’s, the cloak and his quidditch jersey. But her mom left scare behind. To have something now, it feels really good. Under the sweatshirt is her Mom’s robes from when she had to be about Henri’s age. They almost fit her, but once again she’s got smaller boobs. Reluctantly, she sets them aside. Going through what is left in the trunk, Henri adds up four outfits.

“Dobby, I need to go shopping.” She says.

“It not be safe.” He protests.

“Dobby, we can stay in the muggle world. But I need to have more clothes. And, if I’m kissing everything here goodbye-“ she pauses to let her throat un choke, “If I’m never coming back then I’m not going in aunt Petunia’s rags. These things should be **burned**.”

Dobby ruminates on this for a while, while Henri worries her lip. “Fine.”

“Yes!” she shouts, jumping for joy. With a loud crack, the door to the bedroom falls off its hinges, revealing the fissure running through the room. The jagged tear in reality meets the growing hole in the bathroom, and the entire back of the trunk shears off into the void.

“We be going now. Quickly!” Dobby says, snapping the things she wanted from the trunk into a bag she set aside. As he releases the wards holding back the decay, the while trunk starts shaking. Henri scrambles up the ladder, bag bouncing on her shoulder. With a pop she falls out of the trunk and rolls on the sand, bag flying to the side as Dobby teleports up the ladder and nearly into the bag itself. Whirling around, Henri and co watch as the trunk shakes, crushing in upon itself, wobbling and cracking as parts get sucked in. The shaking gets worse and worse until a loud crack sounds and the entire thing folds in upon itself, growing smaller and smaller until it vanishes entirely.

“That was close.” Henri says, grabbing her bag.

“Dobby be seriously thinking Missy Potter unsafe to herself.”

“You’re probably right.” Henri admits, brushing sand off her clothes. “So, one issue. I’m broke in the muggle world. We need to go to Gringotts first.”

“Dobby not like this.” He says.

“Sorry.” Henri says, without really meaning it. She knew she’d have to go back into the world one more time. She planned it. It felt wrong to deceive Dobby like that, to manipulate him, but she needed to look at it all once more. To say goodbye.

They apparate back into Gringotts, and Henri wastes no time walking up to the counter.

“How much can I withdraw from my vault without going over half my assets?” She demands, pushing her vault key forward. The goblin is taken aback but recovers his composure and scans the key. His eyebrows climb as he scans over the ledger, all the while Dobby looks around nervously.

“Well, Miss Potter, at this time you are only eligible to draw from the Potter trust vault. Even emptying the vault, you can only take about a quarter of the assets within our walls out.” He says.

“Then I’ll take it all.” Henri snaps, “quickly. Please.” She adds as an afterthought, Dobby’s impatience infecting her as well.

The goblin barks at one of him fellows and the goblin runs off.

“Oh, in muggle currency if possible.” Henri adds. The goblin scowls at her, summoning another two goblins, and after a short conversation with only one party talking, one races after the other goblin who ran off earlier, while the other runs in a different direction.

“To have it all in muggle currency, the amount will be in various denominations.” The goblin growls at her.

After a short while, the goblin runs back with slim wallet.

“Carry this much currency would be unwieldy, and thus Gringotts took the liberty of purchasing a container for you.”

“How thoughtful of you!” Henri chirps, accepting the wallet and turning to leave, leaving the goblin dumbstruck at her blasé nature of the assumed purchase. He goes to ask her again, to say something about the price, but she’s already racing for the exit.

Just as they are about to hit the apparition platform, Henri collides with an incoming traveler, and is dumped on her butt.

“Oh my, are you okay?” the person says, leaning down to help her up. “Henri?” they ask. Henri pushes some of her hair out of her eyes and pulls on her dislodged glasses.

“Fleur?” she asks.


	3. Exodus

“Fleur?” she asks.

“Henri? What iz going on?” the French witch asks, only to turn to her companion. “Bill, I’m taking a personal day. Please convey my apologies to Grimsnarl, but something came up.”

The redhead nods and gives Fleur a quick kiss, “Sure thing.” He says before disappearing into the bowels of Gringotts.

“Fleur?” Henri asks again.

“Let me apparate us to this café I know, and then you’re going to explain everyzing.” She promises, grabbing Henri tightly before twisting and popping them away.

* * *

“zat is horrible!” Fleur says, sliding around the table and hugging her friend tightly. “I’m so sorry that you have to face all of zis. Had I known, I would have tried to help you, believe me.”

With watery eyes, Henri tries to smile and assures Fleur that she knows the witch would have helped her. “there is one other thing. So, I haven’t told you why I was at Gringotts this morning. Well, I’m leaving Britain. Sirius arranged for me to apprentice with a captain and sail away as long as I want to. I leave tomorrow.”

“Bon. You deserve to get away from this all. With the way they treat you- non. Fuck zem, I say.” Fleur responds.

_(Good.}_

“Can I ask a few favors?” Henri says.

“Anything.” Fleur promises.

“Can you look after Hedwig for me? She likes you. And, if I write a note to some of my friends…”  
“I will deliver zem for you. And I’d love to look after La Reine.” Fleur agrees.

_(The Queen}_

“Then I have just one last thing. Will you help my pick out a new wardrobe? I have… probably a fortune to play with, actually.” Henri says.

“Mon Cher, I’d love to.” Fleur agrees, squeezing the younger witch before letting her go.

_(My Dear}_

“We have to stick to the muggle world though.” Henri says.

“Easy. I’ve wanted to do zis since the second task, you know!”Fleur says, not even trying to hide the grin spreading on her face and the predatory look in her eyes. Henri is starting to think this may have been a mistake, but she has no time to change her mind before they’re off.

They start off by paying the bill at the cafe for the drinks, but from there they peace and calm vanishes as Fleur swishes her wand, transforming her work robes to muggle clothing, settling on a crop top and short jean shorts with sandals. Henri goes to start walking, but Fleur tugs her back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the with asks, twirling her wand in her fingers.

“Shopping?” Henri asks.

“Non. Hold still.” Fleur instructs, leveling her wand and swishing it a few times. Henri looks down as her clothes tug and shift. Her too long shirt shrivels and pins itself away, fabric bunching and dropping off as it shrinks and changes. The sleeves draw up, stopping at a comfortable length, the bottom dropping down half an inch, but tightening around the waist. Her robes fold and tuck into a pair of capris. The falling apart shoes taped together on her feet melt and bubble as they reconform to flip flops.

“Good? Or do I try again?” Fleur asks.

“It looks great.” Henri assures.

“But how does it feel?” The witch asks, “I had limited supplies to work with, so it can’t be that comfortable.”

“It’s fine.” Henri says. “Besides, aren’t we getting new clothes today?”

“Not at first.” Fleur says with a smirk, grabbing Henri’s arm and twisting them away again.

“Ze aurors will be here in a few minutes, so we need to move.” She says, grabbing Henri’s arm and pulling her along as Fleur runs down the street.

“Wait what?” Henri shouts, finding her footing and keeping up with Fleur. “Aurors?”

“Welcome to France, mon cher.”

“FLEUR!” Henri shouts in indignation as they hear the telltale popping of displaced air.

“Don’t worry Henri, even if they catch us, mi papa is the deputy director of immigration and customs. It will only be a slight inconvenience. If we get caught zat is.” She laughs, pushing through a crowd of people and dragging Henri along with her. “Gabbi and I did this all the time when I was in school.”

“I’m honored.” Henri chokes out as she’s tugged around a corner and through an alley.

“If I do this for one sister, why not the other?” Fleur says offhandedly.

Henri immediately slams on the brakes and tugs Fleur back.

“What was that?” she asks.

“You are my little sister, no?” Fleur asks, fighting her grin.

Henri, moved to finally have family for the first time, family that she knows wants her, that chose her, that is alive and sane and- she throws her arms around Fleur and unbidden tears start to fall.

“Shh. It’s okay.” Fleur says softly, running her hand along Henri’s back. “One brat wasn’t enough for me, so I made it two. I mean, Gabbi is a handful and a half, but when I saw you shivering on the dock after the second task, having brought her back to me, how could I not adopt you on the spot? Of course, I had no idea the trouble you’d drag me into. Had I known; I might not have bothered.” She teases, ticking Henri’s sides and waving off the squad of French Aurors who found them crouched in the alley.

“Stop it Fleur.” Herni says wetly, batting at the French witch’s hands. “Stop.”

“Non. This is my right and privilege by being an older sister. Submit peacefully.” She teases.

“Fleur!” Henri cries out.

“Fine. Come, un petit, we have work to do.”

_(little one}_

Fleur walks Henri down the street, arm around the younger witch. They turn down a few streets, Henri getting all mixed up and wondering if Fleur remembers where she’s going. They stop by a quiet door at the corner of the road, no windows and no signs. Fleur pushes open the door and pulls Henri in behind her.

Inside, it’s clear that the shop is a magical salon and parlor. Fleur greets the receptionist and they talk in rapid fire French before Fleur laughs and tugs Henri forward.

“Our first stop is to get that mane of yours in shape. Now, is there anything you’re completely against? They can do just about anything here.”

“Not really. But,” Henri bites her lip, only for Fleur to pull it out with a fingernail.

“This is your body, Henri. And I’ll have to train that out of you as well, less you hurt some poor boy with rough lips.”

“Fleur!” Henri says.

“Some girl zen. Even more reason to teach it out of you.” Fleur teases.

Realizing she won’t win against her adopted older sister; Henri fights her blush and finishes her thought, “Not any longer than it is now, but not bald. I’d like some hair please.”

“Relax.” The wizard says in heavily accented English, guiding her into a chair. “I’ll protect you from tu Soeur.” _{your sister} _Henri closes her eyes and feels for the magic around her. It’s something she worked on with Fleur, back when they spent every afternoon together once classes let out or even before then. If she focuses, she can faintly feel the streams of energy, the swish and flick of the man’s magic as it shapes and cuts her hair, guiding it into something new. The invisible show is comforting, and Henri feels the last of her tension drain away as Fleur, realizing what she’s doing, gently lifts her allure. Fleur’s allure is like a shower of rain to Henri’s fledgling magical sense. A mist she gives off, droplets spattering along everything and sinking into living things. The amount is subtle, is barely noticeable. Not enough to distract the barber, who’s consumed by his work.

Henri hears Fleur giggle and opens her eyes. The barber is still in the middle of his work, but Henri’s magic did something; it turned Fleur’s allure visible. A golden shimmer hangs in the air, drifting off the Veela and floating along in the air. Like pollen in the sunshine, the bits hover and sway through the air. They give everything a golden shine, and Fleur smiles at Henri.

The barber starts to work in earnest, and slowly hair slips from Henri’s head and piles on the floor. The broom in the corner springs to life, sweeping the collected locks up under their feet. She falls back into her trance, letting the magics wash over her and cocoon her. Lost in the wave of energy, Henri doesn’t notice when he finishes. She’s shocked when he spins her chair around- eyes flying open to see, to see-

Henri is shocked. The girl staring back at her in the mirror is so different from her that she can’t believe it’s actually her. The uneven mess of black locks was pared down, trimmed and shorn down to manageable layers. Her long straggle that fought half its way down her back is gone, clipped neatly to the back of her skull.

“tu Soror tells me you are going on a boat for long time- simple is better, no?” the barber explains, running a comb through the back and trimming a few stray hairs.

_{your sister} _

“It’s amazing. Is, is this really me?” Herni asks, delicately reaching up to feel along the short fringe, barely hanging down to her chin on one side.

“You bet. Knew you’d be a knockout if I could drag you out of that backward castle.” Fleur says, leaning in close so Herni can see them both in the mirror. “It looks long enough to pull back if you have to, but short enough that you can choose if you want to or not wherever you are.”

“Are these highlights?” Henri asks quietly in disbelief, running her fingers over some of the off color streaks.

“Magical highlights. You can change the tint with your magic. So, for now,” Fleur concentrates and runs her wand along the stripe, changing the dark brown to an auburn, “for your mom.” She explains.

“Yeah.” Henri whispers captivated by her mothers’ coloring on her head. It looks so natural. “Thanks.”

“So, your ears next?” Fleur asks with glee.

“What about my ears?” Henri asks.

“Well, you obviously need to get them pierced for real. You may have fooled your friends with those clip-ons at the Yule Ball, but I could tell.” The French witch says.

“Fleur, you only realized because you literally saw my ears every day before and after the ball. Every. Single. day.” Henri shoots back, taking a deep breath, “Okay, yeah. Let’s do it. If I’m telling them to kiss my ass, then I might as well go all the way.”

“Bon. How many then?”

“What do you mean how many?” Henri asks.

Fleur leans in and pull her hair back, “How many do you see?”

“Um, three in that ear?” Henri says.

“Four. One is a stud in the inner cartilage. Bill has three piercing total. I have nearly three times that.” Fleur replies.

“At minimum, you need two, one in each ear. But, were you to be adventurous, then…” Fleur trails off and lets Henri’s Gryffindor nature rise to the challenge.

“Not too many. But I’ll do a few.” Henri says with a smirk, falling for Fleur’s bait. She knows she was goaded into this, but she’s okay with that. She trusts Fleur enough that it doesn’t matter. The older witch won’t let her get hurt.

The first piercing hurts, both the stab and the flash of heat to sear the ends clean, but by the second in her ear Henri is past the pain. Her ears hurt, so what if they hurt a little more? It helps that after her first one in each ear, Fleur starts distracting her with earrings. She sorts through hoops and studs, dangling pieces and bejeweled spectacles. While Henri is tempted to go for the most fabulous she can, the responsible part of her reminds the rest that she’s about to be sailing for the foreseeable future. Practical or unobtrusive are the rule on the seas. So, she reluctantly has Fleur put away the more flashy and larger pieces. Narrowing down the selection is surprisingly quick for someone so inexperienced, as Fleur is quick to jump in and offer advice or tips.

Henri settles finally on a pair of small rings for her main piercings, then a single stud in the outer cartilage of her left ear. On the right she splurges, getting flier to bring back the box of fancier pieces. Digging through it for smaller charms, she finally settles on a small lily about the size of a button. It’s her last piercing, resting on the top of her right lobe.

Fleur passes some bills to the man as they walk out, Henri almost in a daze at how fast everything went by, how quickly everything is changing all around her. She lets herself be dragged down the street, follows Fleur into another section of shops that she assumes is within the magical district. Henri has no idea how France is set up in regards to government and muggle/magical relations, but she doesn’t see much of a point in figuring out now. She has no real plans to come back, the unfortunate reminder that she’s running away from the war and everything else. Abandoning everyone she knows to a madman, to who knows what fate. But it isn’t her job to save them, it’s not her responsibility. To stop evil that stares her in the face, yes, but to stop a dark lord alone- no.

“Fleur, am I- Am I doing the right thing by leaving?” Henri asks, afraid of the answer, of being told that she’s being selfish.

“Oh, mi fauve,_{my fawn} _ they have you so turned around you can’t see the way out. Yes, you’re doing the right thing running. There is a madman after you, hunting you down. You have every right to run, to disappear and vanish for your life. The Americans have a saying, life, liberte, and the pursuit of happiness. They called these things self evident, because everyone was entitled to them. So yes, as my little sister, yes- run. Never doubt that you’re doing the right thing. Now, should we work outside in, or inside out?” Fleur says, holding the door to a large store.

“Um, inside out?” Henri says.

“Good choice, but it was the only choice, no? Why put jewels in iron fittings?”

Fleur grabs Henri’s hand and drags her up the escalator, skipping steps in her excitement. They screech to a halt by the underwear and lingerie department, where a salesgirl walks up.

“Puis-je vous aider?”_{How can I help you?”}_

“l’appartement de mon ami a brûlé et elle a besoin de nouveaux vêtements.” Henri can’t follow what Fleur says, but the saleslady gives her a pitying look and claps her hands._ {My friend’s apartment burned down and she need new clothes.”}_

“permet de commencer!”_ {Let’s get started!}_ The lady says, leading them back into the racks of clothes. Soon, they had a pile of underthings for Henri, most pretty basic and sturdy. They’d have to stand up to the sea and all of Henri’s jobs. But, Fleur made her pick out a few cuter pieces, and then finally a couple of sexy things that had Henri’s entire face burning with embarrassment. But, after the first pair that Fleur made her model, Henri pushed past the shame doctored into her by the Dursleys. This was her last time with Fleur, and she should enjoy this and not shy away from having fun. So, the next pair Fleur held up Henri smirked,

“I think those would fit you better than me. Let’s see them.”

“If you insist.” Fleur said, slipping into one of the changing rooms and stepping out moments later. “Well?” she says, striking a pose.

“No, not you.” Henri says, handing her another pair. Try these instead.” After another seven sets, Fleur finally calls it quits.

“Merci, Henri, but this trip is for you, not me. I have plenty of things for Bill already- a few I know he really likes!” she winks, sending Henri back to being red faced.

Moving on from there, they shop bras for a moment before Henri stops and thinks, “On a ship, I’ll probably want more support than a normal bra Fleur.”

“I’d guess so. But we should shop some. You do have, what do zey call it, shore leave, no? Plus, you are not done growing just yet. You could end up with a better pair than mine.”

“I doubt it, but thanks.” Henri calls back, searching for a pair in her size she liked the feel of.

They decided to pay for the things in sets, and Henri managed to pay out everything for her underthings, Fleur discreetly waving her wand so Dobby could pick up their new purchases.

Next up, Fleur dragged her to swimwear. “You’re going to be on a ship for the longest time, so of course you’ll be in the water or getting wet regularly.” As comfortable as Henri was teasing and playing with Fleur, she’s much more hesitant about swimwear. Fleur did teach her to swim, but Henri still wasn’t comfortable in the water, and she wasn’t super comfortable showing a lot of skin and combining to two seemed bad to her. So, Fleur said something quietly to the saleslady, and they went across the room to the athletic section rather than the normal section. Henri was much more comfortable with the one piece suits, and quickly added three or four to the pile. Fleur made her pick out a few that started bordering the in-between of one or two piece suits, and discreetly added a few bikinis as well.

To distract Henri as she did this, Fleur tossed her in the sundresses. Henri had a secret love of informal dresses, even though she only owned one that Luna gave her. So she went a little overboard, picking up one in every pastel color, before flipping through prints and graphic ones, actually pulling out a few as gifts. In the discount section, because Henri searched everywhere, she pulled out a green dress with radishes and turnips on it that Luna would love.

From there it was easy to pivot to skirts, then shorts and pants. Henri went to town on it all, enjoying getting anything she wanted, but also trying to remember that she was going to be living on a boat. So, some of the less sturdy and more showy ones’ had to be put back in exchange for more functional attire.

Fleur caught up to the pair of delighted shopper and slightly nervous but also excited saleslady. They were going through shirts, and Henri was trying to decide between a quarter sleeve and a half of the same design.

“Get them both.” Fleur advised.

“But, I got a lot of stuff already. I should probably cut back some- this is a lot.” Henri says, nibbling on her lip again.

“What are you really worried of?” Fleur asks, already able to read the girl.

“I don’t know anything about sailing. What if all of this is just dead weight on the ship and I show up with all of these ridiculous outfits that are completely impractical and-“ Fleur shushes her.

“Then you leave the impractical in your trunk. You have practical attire- jeans and a t shirt at least. Sturdy boots for your tiny toes. You already thought about weather and picked up three rain jackets. You’ll be fine. And if you really need something, Hedwig will find you and you can ask me to send you something. We’ll make it work.” Fleur promises.

“Okay,” Henri sniffles, “thanks again.”

“What are big sisters for, but to comfort and to drive off unworthy boys?”

“Fleur!” Henri groans.

“I think that is everything you need for your trip.” Fleur says as they leave the store sometime later, Henri’s wallet lighter, but not noticeably she’s so wealthy.

“Fleur, you’re a life saver and the best friend a girl could ask for.” Henri says, throwing her arms around the French witch.

“Non, there are no debts between family. It was a pleasure to help you and I’ll miss you, but I’m glad you’re going. Stay safe Henri.” Fleur says, twisting her wand and apparating them back to where Dobby was hiding.

* * *

“Missy Potter! Yous be alive and okay!”Dobby says happily, tucking the last few bags in the trunk.

“I think I’m ready Dobby.” Henri says.

“It be almost time for yous to be meeting the cappytain.” Dobby says.

“I’ll let you leave then.” Fleur says, wiping away tears.

“Fleur-“ Henri says, hugging the older witch tightly. Fleur returns the embrace just as strongly.

“Goodbye Henri. I love you, and I hope one day we can meet again.”

“One day this whole mess will be over and I’ll come back, I promise. Goodbye Fleur.”

With one last pop, Dobby transports them to the docks. Henri taps her trunk and wheels it down the boards toward the ship docked at the end of the pier. It’s a medium ship she thinks, since she has no experience. It’s got two sails and looks sleek, a mix of metal and wood.

“Dobby, I-“ once again her voice fails her. How can she tell them goodbye, leave them for good? They can pretend, but she knows once she steps off the pier and the boat pulls away that’s it. It’s all over.

“Missy Herni, you bes good for the cappytain. Dobby knows how deep yous be caring for him. It has been an honor to serve the Great and Wonderful Missy Henri-“

His words are cut off the by the violet spell than crashes into his side and rips it open, the edges bubbling.

“For the Dark Lord! You die today, Potter!” The white masks and dark robes billow as they land, almost a dozen of them, one whose wand is still outstretched. Fleur draws her wand and shields the first barrage as Henri screams, cradling Dobby’s body. She ignores the burning on her hands from the ends of the curse, tears streaming as he reaches up with the last of his strength to touch Henri’s face.

“Dobby bes a good elf.” He says, arm falling limp. Henri feels the world stand still as his heart gives one last beat before falling silent. She looks up in a daze to see Fleur, horrifically outmatched and outnumbered, but fighting still, one arm transformed and tossing fireballs while her wand is a whirl of motion, shielding and casting with everything she has. But it’s not enough and the death eaters are pushing her back and chipping at her shield. Fleur catches two on fire and puts another two on the planks from her spellwork, but there’s still eight of them standing and spreading out. Fleur screams as an orange spell catches her in the arm and the limb falls limp, shards of bone pushed out of the skin and weeping blood. Still she fights, but it’s a fight she’s quickly losing. Henri snarls and draws her wand, flicking a pair of cutters into the central two death eaters, drawing deep into her core to overpower an incendio and wave the wand in the whole arc of enemies, pushing them back. Henri gasps as the energy drains from her body and she blinks back spots. She’s apparently not fully recovered. Fleur does her best, but the death eaters are back on them, Henri’s spells having only taken two of them down.

“You can’t win! The Dark Lord wins today!” one of them shouts as Fleur’s shield shatters. Spells pour though and catch her in the chest, sending her flying, The triumphant death eater goes to shout again only to cough and gurgle as a blade punches through his chest. The sword flicks back out, slicing through another’s calf before lopping off a third’s arm. The man steps into the group of death eaters and attacks again, sword flickering and reducing the death eaters to pieces.

“If we’re going, we need to leave now. The Ministry will be here any minute, and they’ll seal the whole port down. If we aren’t gone by then, you’re never getting out of Britain.” The man says, leaping onto the ship and tossing the lines off.

“But, Fleur…” Henri says.

“Herni, go!” Fleur shouts, sitting up and holding her wand ready.

“She’ll be fine.” The man says as the cracks of apparition come in. He stands on the edge of the ship, on foot on the dock and one on the ship, “Last chance. Stay or go, but I’m leaving.” Henri grab her trunk and pulls it to the railing, where he takes over and tugs it aboard. Henri sees the color of a mediwizard uniform in the distance from the same direction as the apparition and leaps onboard.

The ship pulls away, the dock shrinking behind them, Fleur resting against a piling and Dobby laying on the dock in a pool of his blood. The man stands behind the wheel while Henri leans on the rail, watching her old life shrink away.

* * *

Later, once they’ve cleared the port, the man anchors them down and walks over to where Henri is still leaning on the rail, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you sooner. I stepped away to pay the docking fees, and when I got back I did what I could. Who was his name, your helper?”

“Dobby.” Henri says, fresh tears coming.

“Dobby.” The man says, squaring his shoulders. “We’ll hold a vigil tonight to make sure he gets across the river.”

“Thanks.” Henri says.

“It’s only right. I couldn’t save him, so I’d better do my best to make sure he rests peacefully.” The captain says. “Your godfather warned me about it all, but I didn’t expect it to be so sudden. But, we’re away now. You’re safe on the ship. We’ll pick up the rest of the crew down the coast from here, and then we’re off for open waters. I never introduced myself did I? The name is Percy, Percy Jackson. This is my ship, the _Peregrims. _Welcome aboard.”


End file.
